


Sometimes Romance is Mandatory

by leashy_bebes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-14
Updated: 2011-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-27 08:44:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leashy_bebes/pseuds/leashy_bebes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn't matter that Merlin insists Arthur and Gwaine's relationship is a sign of the apocalypse, it's still been happening for six months, and that's worth marking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes Romance is Mandatory

Arthur's good at remembering dates. Birthdays, meetings, anniversaries, he never forgets a thing.

Oh yeah, sounds wonderful.

It's a bloody curse. For instance, he knows that this ordinary Tuesday marks six months and two weeks since he last shagged anyone other than Gwaine. Which means that in a week and three days, it will be six months since he first shagged Gwaine.

Six months, for God's sake. Arthur hasn't done six months with anyone in a long time. And as for Gwaine, well Merlin had started muttering about signs of the apocalypse after the third consecutive weekend. It had only taken Elena until two months to join in.

Idiots.

And make no mistake, Arthur includes Gwaine in that. He's no less annoying now than he ever was. He's made it his life's mission to make Arthur laugh so hard he snorts coffee out of his nose at least once a week, he is so fucking distracting when Arthur's trying to work, and he leaves his books and unwashed plates all over the place.

But the thing is, he _can_ make Arthur laugh until he snorts coffee, and he succeeds in making Arthur forget work for _hours on end_ , and alright maybe once or twice Arthur's used the cologne Gwaine's left lying around, and it's bloody lovely. Or it was, until Elena noticed and bought him a bottle, handing it over at work with a pitying smile.

"I could probably steal you one of his t-shirts if that would help," she'd offered.

All Arthur had been able to come up with was, "How do you know what we all smell like anyway, huh? Pining?"

"It's called cuddling, Pendragon," she'd said pityingly. "You should try it. With Gwaine. Full contact non-penile cuddling."

"Oh, sod off," he'd told her. "Technically, I could fire you."

Gwaine had found the full bottle of cologne in Arthur's bathroom cabinet three days later and the whole story had come tumbling out and it was, god, it was disgusting really, how crazy he was for Gwaine even back then. While Arthur sat and felt miserable Gwaine just tapped his knuckle against the table a few times and then said, "You left your stupid, expensive shower gel at mine the other week."

"Oh."

"You need a new bottle."

" _Oh_. Right."

*

And that was about when Arthur started to feel less like a prize idiot and more like someone in an unexpected but functional relationship. With Gwaine.

Which is – really, just _so_ improbable. They should have come to their senses when the endorphins wore off from the frankly brilliant first shag. They should have run a mile in opposite directions. Or failing that, they should have killed each other sometime in the last few months. But they haven't.

However unlikely it was to start with, it's happening, and it's really bloody good. And Arthur doesn't like to half-arse things. When he's in, he's in, and there's no way he's letting six months go unmarked. After a bit of deliberation, Arthur gets them tickets for the England friendly at Wembley a couple of weeks later. It's...alright, maybe not romantic in the traditional sense of the word, but it's been ages since they've been to a match together, and Arthur does love seeing Gwaine all animated and outraged at every shot on goal and dodgy refereeing decision. He also books a nice restaurant, not stupidly expensive, because Gwaine always takes the piss when Arthur flashes the cash, but one of Arthur's favourites, where he knows the owner well enough to secure a nice quiet booth and time to themselves.

And then it all starts getting a bit twisted up in Arthur's head. He's not used to second guessing himself, but now it's like he can't stop. He's always known that everyone else sees him and Gwaine as unlikely, but maybe that's just a front for thinking it's an actively bad idea.

"The restaurant called," Elena says a couple of days after Arthur made the booking. "To confirm your reservation and that they'll be able to provide you with a secluded booth, perfect for a romantic rendez-vous."

"They did not say that," Arthur snaps.

"It was implied," Elena says, perching on the edge of Arthur's desk. "So..." she says, prompting.

Arthur gives her a look that would have anyone else fearing for their continued employment, and possibly their lives. Elena just grins at him, reaches over and ruffles his hair.

"Adorable. Please get photographic evidence of Gwaine's reaction to nouvelle cuisine. The tiny little portions!" she adds rapturously. "This is going to cost you a bomb."

"Shut up, I'm not – I'm not taking him somewhere like that. _Obviously_. I do actually care what he likes, you know. I haven't put up with six months of stubble burn in places you don't need to know about just because he's pretty."

Elena looks a bit queasy. "I don't know what part of that was more stomach churning," she says. "The idea of your stubble-burned arse, or that dopey look on your face."

She's joking, Arthur's sure, but it doesn't strike him as very bloody funny. Maybe she's right. He picked the restaurant because he thought it would appeal to Gwaine, but while it's not the kind of designer food Elena's imagining, it is decidedly more fancy than anywhere they've been together before. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea and he should just get them beer and a curry, or better yet ignore the day altogether. Maybe it's just not them.

But the bitch of it is that Arthur _wants_ it to be them. He wants to do that obnoxious thing where you go to a restaurant and look at the other couples and think that what they have can only be at best like a low-quality copy of what you have, because the person you're with is the only person in the world worth being with.

It doesn't seem to like too much to fucking ask, Arthur is still thinking bitterly a good while after Elena has left his office. Alright. Okay. Maybe he won't mention it to Gwaine for a couple of days, give himself time to work up to it (and get bloody _Elena's_ words out of his head).

He'll tell Gwaine after the weekend. They can spend it bickering and shagging like usual, and it'll just come naturally, he decides. They'll be curled up in bed after some mind-blowing sex and it'll be romantic (by their standards) and perfect.

Except life is out to get him and Arthur wakes up around one o'clock on Monday morning to a cold bed. The last time he remembered seeing the clock it was blinking 23.37 over Gwaine's shoulder as Arthur panted against his collarbone and prepared just the right words.

Buggering hell.

He finds Gwaine at the kitchen table, flicking through one of his endless supplies of photography magazines. Gwaine tilts his head back when he hears Arthur coming and smiles at him upside-down.

"Getting old, Pendragon," he teases.

Arthur touches Gwaine's bare shoulder, finds his skin still warm and enticing.

"Come back to bed."

"Alright," Gwaine says agreeably. He lifts his hand to cover Arthur's and squeeze it against his shoulder for a moment and Arthur thinks _now, say it now_. But by then Gwaine's already on his feet, arms around Arthur's waist, kissing his jaw and sighing sleepily.

"Why don't you go to bed when you get tired like a normal person?" Arthur asks.

Gwaine shrugs and lets Arthur pull him through to the bedroom.

*

Naturally, Elena has told Merlin about Arthur's dinner plans, and when he gets into his office on Monday morning it's to find Merlin sitting in his chair, feet up on Arthur's desk.

"You're taking Gwaine for a meal to celebrate your anniversary," he says, like he's announcing the theory of relativity to a stunned world.

Arthur wonders how to respond for that and in the end settles on, "Anniversary, from the Latin root _annum_ meaning year and _vertere_ , to turn."

"Ding, ding! Pendragon, King's College," Merlin says, and starts humming the university challenge theme tune. "Whatever. Your sixth...menseversary, maybe?" he suggests. "See, I had a pointless education too."

"Why do _you_ know how long Gwaine and I – "

"Because I write about it in my diary," Merlin says, not batting an eyelash, the little bastard.

Arthur wonders if there's some way he can ban Merlin and Elena from spending time together. They are clearly not good for each other.

"Also," Merlin goes on. "It started the week we got that really good curry."

"Great," Arthur says, finally taking the opportunity to put down his briefcase and shrug out of his coat. "Okay. Good. Move, please."

With a bit of encouragement, Merlin vacates Arthur's chair and sits on the desk instead.

"You're seriously taking Gwaine to a posh restaurant?"

Arthur bristles. He was in such a good mood too, after Gwaine woke him with a hell of a blowjob _and_ made perfect scrambled eggs for breakfast.

" _Yes_ , I'm taking him to a restaurant. What of it?"

"Nothing, it's just - I'm surprised you're not taking him - I don't know, white water rafting."

Arthur's about to scoff but, well. Merlin and Gwaine are good mates. "Does he want to go white water rafting?" he asks, sounding more concerned than he would have liked.

Merlin looks at him like he's speaking in tongues. "Not that I'm aware of. Just seems like the kind of stupid thing you two would do to impress each other."

"Fuck off, would you? I've got work to do, and I'm pretty sure you have too. If not, just let me know, and I'll find you some."

But Merlin's already hopping down from the desk. "Sir, yes, sir!"

Arthur hates this. Hates feeling like maybe everyone else has a more accurate idea of his relationship with Gwaine than he does. Because the thing is, everybody seems to think it's a mixture of a joke and a convenience. And while yeah, faking sex noises in Merlin's bathroom to give him mental scars is never going to get old, it's not just that. Not any more, anyway.

But god, what if that's what it is for Gwaine still? Arthur's kind of putting himself on the line, doing this. And really, he's not fond of asking questions to which he doesn't already know the answer. Gwaine hasn't mentioned anything about six months, or doing something special. Maybe he thinks the same as everyone else. Maybe he thinks this thing between them is fleeting by its very nature.

Fuck, Arthur hates that idea even more than he expected to.

"Six months," he announces, when he meets Gwaine for a quick coffee on Tuesday.

"Six months what?" Gwaine asks, and all right, maybe it was a bit out of the blue, being the first thing he's said to Gwaine after 'usual?'

But Arthur can't help a sinking feeling in his stomach, and his voice is a bit too loud when he says, "Six months! Us!"

"Wow," Gwaine says. "No, god, you're right. Time flies when you're having fun, eh?"

"I'm taking you for dinner," Arthur says, and for fuck's sake, it's like he's not even in control of his mouth.

Gwaine raises his eyebrows and says a slow, "okay..." before tucking his hair behind his ears and taking a sip of his Americano.

"Somewhere nice," Arthur says, deliberately softening his tone. "Friday, if that's okay. I'll pick you up about half six."

"All right," Gwaine says agreeably. "Sounds good."

Which is great. It's what Arthur wanted, but he feels like they're reading slightly different versions of a script. Gwaine's all casual and probably heard "hey, fancy dinner?" while Arthur was saying...well, he's not even sure what he's saying. But it's more than dinner.

*

Arthur gets to Gwaine's a little early on Friday, and it's a good job too. The dark jeans and long-sleeved navy t-shirt is undoubtedly a good look on him, but it's hardly smart enough for where they're going. Arthur stumbles about for the words to say that and eventually Gwaine gives him a look.

"Ah. One of _those_ restaurants."

It's – enough, Arthur thinks. Just – fucking – _enough_. The twin evil that is Merlin and Elena has been taking the piss all week, and tonight already has disaster written all over it. Fucking wonderful.

"Look," Arthur says explosively. "For whatever reason, and believe me, I have my top men working on it, I am bloody in love with you, you berk. And people who are in love with people do nice things to commemorate mutually important dates."

"I am familiar with the concept," Gwaine says.

"Good! So will you stop looking at me like I've grown an extra head and go and put on a fucking suit? _God_."

Gwaine looks Arthur up and down with an amused expression on his face. "Six months, eh? I deserve a medal."

He such a tosser, Arthur thinks as he watches Gwaine go. Really, just an absolute wanker. Arthur doesn't know how he ever forgot that for long enough to carry on shagging him for _six months_. God, but the bastard looks good in a suit, Arthur has to admit to himself when Gwaine returns. Quietly hating him, Arthur sulks in the armchair while Gwaine stands in front of the mirror above the fireplace and starts putting on a tie. His eyes flick to Arthur's in the mirror and his face goes fond in the way Arthur can never resist. Bastard.

"I love you too, you know," Gwaine says. "I don't even feel the need to set a team of investigators to find out why. So you can stop pouting now."

 _I'm not pouting, and if I was, that wouldn't be why_ , Arthur wants to say, except maybe he was, a little, and maybe that _is_ why, because 'I love you too, you know'? Best words in the known universe. Sod that, best combination of sounds that have ever been put together. The White Album is just static by comparison. Arthur lets Gwaine pull him up out of the chair and kiss him hard. Gwaine is a stupidly good kisser, all pushy and persistent and hungry.

"It's part sod's law, and partly the fact that you are very, very pretty," Gwaine explains when he steps back.

Arthur scoffs at Gwaine's smile, trying his hardest to seem genuinely annoyed.

It doesn't work. Gwaine just grins wider and spreads his arms. "Come on then, princess. Wine and dine me."

"God, you are such an idiot," Arthur complains. "I don't know why I bother."

"Aww," Gwaine coos, grabbing Arthur's hand and lifting it to his mouth to kiss the back of his fingers. "I bet you can think of some reasons."

"You're acceptable in the sack, and you know how I take my coffee," Arthur sniffs. "Move your arse, we'll be late."

"All right. Come on, then, smooth-talker." Gwaine waves Arthur towards the door with a bow.

*

"That's my tie," Arthur says, halfway to the restaurant.

"Yes it is," Gwaine agrees, trailing his fingers over the red silk neatly bisecting his dark grey shirt.

"Looks good," Arthur says. "You should dress like a normal adult more often."

"Ah, well, us creative types aren't bound by your sad conventions of normality."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "You're a photographer, Gwaine. Point and click."

"I'm a photographic artist," Gwaine corrects." _Artiste_ on a Wednesday."

"You're a bollock-brain, is what you are," Arthur laughs, but he finds himself inexplicably nervous as they get closer to the restaurant.

Inside the manager greets Arthur like an old friend and Arthur can _feel_ Gwaine's smirk even if he doesn't look.

"Well, this is terribly grand," Gwaine says, after the manager has shown them to a booth in the corner of the restaurant, some semblance of privacy afforded by the high, dark wood panelling.

Arthur feels abruptly awkward. "What're you drinking?" he asks. "I'm driving, so have whatever."

"Well," Gwaine says, glancing down at the wine list. "Given that there are no prices on here, I think I'll go for a lager. Will they kick me out for that?"

"Shut up," Arthur says, a bit sharper than he meant to. "God, your fucking inverse snobbery – "

Gwaine holds his hands up. "Whoa, whoa. It was a joke."

"No, they won't kick you out," Arthur says. "Here." He turns a page on the wine list and taps it. "The Deus is nice, it's a champagne beer, and – "

Arthur can see Gwaine biting down on a smile, and can't explain the unpleasant kick in his stomach. He flushes a bit and looks down at the table.

"Sounds good," Gwaine says, his voice gentle and Arthur abruptly feels about ten times worse. God, now Gwaine is making allowances for what an over-thinking over-emotional idiot Arthur has turned into.

The staff are unobtrusive as they bring drinks and then starters. The restaurant is its usual quiet, warm, friendly self but it's just...not working. Arthur scrambles desperately for something to say, something that will click them back to being their normal selves. Instead he finds himself poking at his prosciutto-wrapped scallops and thinking that everything tasted a lot better the last time he ate here.

"This is ridiculous," Gwaine says after their starters have been cleared away.

"Huh? What is?"

Gwaine waves a hand between the two of them. " _This_. We're acting like strangers on a blind date, for fuck's sake."

"I – "

"We'll be passing comment on the tablecloth soon," Gwaine says, but he's smiling like it's funny instead of a fucking disaster.

Arthur stares into his glass of sparkling water and wishes he'd thought to get them here in a cab so he could at least have a drink or several. "I just – I wanted to show you this matters," Arthur says.

There's a longer silence than Arthur expected before Gwaine gives him an exasperated look and says, "I take so many photos of you."

Arthur's heart quickens a bit but he says, "You take photos of everyone."

" _So many_ ," Gwaine says. "Some when you were sleeping."

"Seriously? That's a bit..."

"Shut up, no it's not. I wasn't taking pictures of you sleeping, I was taking pictures of you sleeping _in my bed_."

Arthur's sure that in Gwaine-speak, that was totally sensible and cleared everything right up. In the here and now though, Arthur's still a bit lost.

"For god's sake, I take pictures of the stuff you leave at my house! I have to stop myself texting you about a dozen times a day just to tell you I found a shop that sells those godawful chilli mints you like so much, or that I heard a fucking song you like on the radio or – great," Gwaine says flatly, when Arthur can't keep back his grin. "Laugh it up, you prick. I'm baring my fucking soul and you – "

Arthur leans over the table and kisses him. "Shut up, Gwaine. And don't stop yourself from now on. I want every ridiculous thought you want to share with me. All of it, everything."

"Good," Gwaine says softly. "Because this is a big deal. You, hot stuff, are the very biggest of deals. And yeah, six months is – it's a landmark, if you're into those. But Arthur, mate, all the time – you're here. With me. We're unexpectedly, disgustingly good together. It matters every day, you loon."

Arthur smiles at that, big and heartfelt. Everything tastes better afterwards. Not a disaster, Arthur decides, letting himself be whisked away on one of Gwaine's stories about the eccentric arty types he meets through work. Definitely not a disaster.

Between the main course and the ridiculously decadent chocolate-based dessert that Gwaine prodded him into ordering, Arthur takes the football tickets from inside his pocket where the envelope has been tormenting him all evening. He slides them across the table and Gwaine looks at the plain white envelope for a second before looking back up to Arthur with a quizzical expression.

"What's that?"

"Don't know," Arthur says. "Have a look, find out."

With a look on his face like he's expecting a loud bang, and maybe something rigged to jump out of the envelope, Gwaine does as he's told.

His eyes go wide when he sees the tickets and he blurts out, "Holy shit!" Then, after a quick glance around he says with the volume adjusted, "I mean – holy _shit_."

Arthur laughs, catches hold of Gwaine's wrist and squeezes it, happiness bubbling inside him. Gwaine sets his hands on the table and leans across it to kiss Arthur, lingering and sweet. When they've finished eating, Gwaine tries to reach for the bill and Arthur snatches it away. When Gwaine starts to protest Arthur shushes him and slaps away his questing hand.

"Going Dutch defeats the whole point of me taking you out for a meal," he points out.

Gwaine huffs a sigh and leans back in his chair. "I feel like a dick now," he says, pouting his stupid pout.

"You _are_ a dick," Arthur agrees, glancing at the bill and sliding his credit card onto the small silver tray. "Why do you feel like one now?"

"I didn't – you take me out for some lush meal, and you get us football tickets that are like bloody gold dust and all I got you was – "

"You got me a present?" Arthur asks, unable to hide his interest.

"Uh. Yeah. In a manner of speaking."

"Do you have it with you? Gimme!"

"Ah. Yeah, it's not exactly a five-star dining kind of gift."

Arthur grins. "What?"

"Uh. Handcuffs," Gwaine admits. "I thought it'd be – you know, symbolic or something. As well as practical."

"Symbolic?"

"Yeah," Gwaine nods. "Of the fact that I've no intention of letting you go anywhere any time soon."

It's – ridiculous, yes, but it's kind of perfect too, and Arthur leans over the table to give Gwaine a lingering kiss.

"You're an idiot," he says. "But you're my idiot. I can't wait for the practical demonstration."

"See, this is why I like you," Gwaine says. "You're a doer."

*

"That was – " Gwaine says on the drive back to Arthur's house. "Arthur, that was really lovely. Thank you."

There's no sarcasm in his voice and when his hand comes to rest on top of Arthur's on the gearstick, Arthur can't resist tangling their fingers together. Gwaine starts flicking through the radio stations with his free hand, singing along off-key to snatches of songs, or muttering uncharitable things about the politicians who're speaking.

When they pull up outside Arthur's block, Gwaine says, "If we'd gone back to mine we could have had a crack at the handcuffs."

"Tomorrow," Arthur promises, pushing a quick kiss onto Gwaine's mouth. "We'll make a special trip."

"Sounds like a plan," Gwaine says, and he reaches over to undo Arthur's seatbelt.

"I can manage that mys – _mmph_."

Arthur fists his hand in Gwaine's suit jacket and returns the kiss, tasting bitter dark chocolate and the tang of raspberries. Gwaine's hands are already inside Arthur's jacket, warm through his shirt, sliding it askew.

"Arthur – god, you've a devil of a mouth," Gwaine murmurs after a moment. Arthur can't help thinking that Gwaine's a fine one to talk when he promptly catches Arthur's lower lip between his teeth and nips at it, a soft suck that Arthur feels all the way down to his toes.

They go on like that for a bit before Arthur realises they're actually making out in his car like a pair of kids. He has never had to resort to getting off in his car before, and he doesn't intend to start now so he pushes Gwaine away even though he's warm and rumpled and muttering protest into Arthur's mouth. And wearing a fucking _suit_ , honestly, Arthur is sorted for wank fantasies for the rest of forever now. Still, though. Car.

"Come on," Arthur says. "Come on, get inside."

"Fine," Gwaine grumbles, looking sulky. But when he gets out of the car, he promptly wraps his arm around Arthur's waist and sticks close as they make their way indoors.

"You want another drink?" Arthur asks.

"Nope," Gwaine says cheerfully, pulling Arthur in by his lapels for another kiss as soon as the door is shut behind them.

It's Gwaine that leads them into the bedroom. That used to throw Arthur off, how at home Gwaine is in his space. He can't pinpoint exactly when, but at some point he came to love it instead. Gwaine knocks the light on with his elbow and pushes Arthur's jacket off his shoulders.

They fumble each other out of their clothes and Gwaine gets weirdly fixated for a moment or two on nuzzling the skin behind Arthur's ear before he pushes Arthur down onto the bed and climbs into his lap. His knees are tight against the outside of Arthur's thighs and Arthur reaches up to cup his cheeks, dragging his thumbs against the grain of his stubble.

Arthur has never laughed in bed so much as he does with Gwaine. Gwaine is a world-class, gold-medal-winning fucking _expert_ when it comes to fun sex. Given all that, plus the fact that they've been joking around and taking the piss all the way home, Arthur is expecting something athletic and noisy, bitching at each other while they've got the breath for it.

But instead it's quiet and slow and they don't get around to actually fucking. Not because they go off too fast, they just don't stop kissing. Arthur is still learning all the places on Gwaine's body that make him go sweetly, quietly mad, and he indulges himself on the length of Gwaine's neck, down to his shoulders, back up again to taste the heat of his mouth.

"You drive me absolutely mad," Arthur tells him, and it comes out all soft and fond and vulnerable. Gwaine hooks his fingers around Arthur's chin and lifts his head to look him in the eye.

He looks disconcertingly serious for a moment, but then he grins. "Back atcha."

They tease each other towards the edge, dragging it out until Arthur feels as wrung out as if they'd been shagging for hours. Arthur can't take his eyes off Gwaine, tracking every little reaction. A kiss below his jaw makes his eyelashes swoop low, a dark shadow on his cheek. Arthur's fingers on his hipbones get laughter if it's too soft, but makes Gwaine melt into the sheets and clutch Arthur to him if he gets it just right.

With a low murmur of, _oh fuck_ , Gwaine gets serious and intent all of a sudden, one hand cupping the back of Arthur's head. Gwaine's unusually quiet, pressing an occasional soft kiss to the shape of Arthur's mouth, but mainly he just _stares_. It should be unnerving, but Arthur can't break the eye contact, doesn't want to look anywhere but at the flecks of colour in Gwaine's eyes, that little scar just at the end of his left eyebrow (Arthur doesn't know how he got that, will have to ask) and the stupidly beautiful curl of his lashes.

After, Gwaine kisses his chest and says, "That was some pretty fucking romantic sex, babe."

Arthur snorts a laugh and says, "Yeah." Because there was something burning in those last moments when Gwaine's eyes hooked him in, he adds, "I meant what I said earlier, you know. I am kind of in love with you."

"Oh, _kind of_ now, is it?" Gwaine teases.

"All right," Arthur says. "I am unambiguously, unequivocally in love with you."

"And I think you're just great," Gwaine says, patting Arthur clumsily, starting to sound sleepy now.

Arthur pinches his ribs.

"Alright, ow, okay. Fine. Declarations are always mutual in your Hollywood of a brain, aren't they?"

"It's customary," Arthur agrees, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Fine. You're the light of my life, okay? The light of my fucking life." He presses a little kiss to the base of Arthur's throat that says, _I'm not even joking, but if you press me on it, I'll lie_.

Arthur ruffles Gwaine's hair and drops a smacking kiss onto his forehead. "Should get cleaned up."

"Oh, no," Gwaine says. They still haven't fully untangled themselves and Gwaine drags Arthur in tighter, pinning him firmly. "No way. We have accomplished more actual relationship tonight than ever before. We're basking in that."

Arthur laughs, but he relaxes into Gwaine's grip. "You don't talk a whole lot of post-coital sense, do you?"

Gwaine hums and does something that Arthur is going to be forced to describe as snuggling. "Sex-daze," he says, and hides a yawn in Arthur's chest. "I can't wait to tell Merlin we did something romantic with no visible sense of irony," he says.

Arthur sighs dramatically. "You just ruined it."

"I did?"

"Totally invalidated any and all romance."

"Bugger. Looks like we'll have to try again in another six months," Gwaine says.

Arthur smiles hugely, and grabs Gwaine's hand without looking at him. "Looks like. God, you're so inconsiderate, Gwaine."


End file.
